Catching Up
by organanation
Summary: It's been a busy few weeks in the office, and when the case winds down, Perry and Della find they have a great deal of personal things to catch up on. Ridiculously plotless; perfect cure for insomnia or Monday blues.


_AN:Part two pairs well with some Sinatra or Elvis. Whole piece pairs perfectly with Monday Blues._

It had been a long week-days spent in court, nights spent chasing down leads and witnesses and facts. That morning, Della would have guessed they were in for another day just like the others. But just before noon recess had been called, Perry had gotten _that look_.

Burger had just called a new witness, one they'd been searching for in vain since the beginning of the case. She'd been in protective custody. Something she had said from the stand had caused Perry's ears to perk up.

He'd given her their signal-leaving his fountain pen uncapped on the table-that meant she was to take down every word the witness said. Three pages into her steno pad later, Perry had screwed the lid back onto the pen and Della stretched her fingers, sneaking a glance at the counselor. She was quite sure she was the only one-with possibly the occasional exception of Paul-who could see the exact moment that Perry knew he'd be walking away the victor.

Lunch had been sandwiches spread out over all the trial notes as Perry buttoned up his strategy for the afternoon. Della didn't pretend to understand how all the things he asked for connected: it would all come out soon enough. She just stood over his shoulder and handed him the page he asked for.

It was 1:15 when they finally zipped their leather folios closed, leaving them a few moments to collect themselves before returning to the courthouse for the two o'clock session. Perry leaned back in his chair with a tired sigh and Della put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He covered her hand with his.

"Gertie here?" he asked."

"She and Paul went to Clay's. I don't expect them for another ten minutes," she answered. "Need something?"

He tugged gently on her arm, inviting her to lean over the back of his chair and wrap her arms around his neck.

"What should we do tonight?" Perry asked, and she felt the gentle vibrations of his voice beneath her hands. "Anything you like. Dinner...dancing...we could go to the pictures…"

"Mmm...nothing," she said, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"Nothing?" he chuckled.

"Nothing. As in, I don't want to do anything. No work, no dancing. Just a simple dinner and a sunset. And of course, you, and your undivided attention," she added. He leaned his head to meet hers at the temples.

Thunder rumbled from the other side of the gossamer curtains.

"I don't know if I can promise you a sunset, but dinner is probably something we can swing. And I'll trade you all my attention for all your affection," he teased. She smiled.

"Don't let Burger hear you talk like that. He'll think you've gone soft."

"On the contrary. I think he'd praise me for my bargaining skills."

They heard the door to the outer office open and close, accompanied by Gertie's high giggle and Paul's loud laughter.

Della sighed and straightened up.

"Until tonight, my darling," Perry whispered, bringing her hand to his lips. Paul poked his head into the office a moment later.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"I am," Perry said. "Ms. Street?"

Della nodded with a smile. Paul gave her a hand with her jacket as Perry gathered their folders.

"Say, do either of you have plans? I was thinking-" Paul began.

"We're busy tonight," Perry interrupted.

"A client?" Paul asked.

"Just...some catching up to do because we've been so busy all week," Della interjected. Technically, that was the truth. Paul, placated by her statement, nodded and walked into the elevator. Perry and Della shared a private glance and followed him in.

00

Dinner was just what she asked for: a simple affair, eaten in the multi-colored light of the tiffany lamp hanging over her little kitchen table. They were taking care of the dishes now before settling in for the rest of the evening.

Della had her sleeves rolled up and her hands buried in the dishwater, scrubbing at the fry pan. Perry was tuning in the small transistor radio on the window sill before carting in the dirty dishes from the table.

"The ball game was rained out. Music alright?" he asked, fiddling with the dials. She nodded as she dumped the pan into the other side of the sink for him to rinse when he returned.

"Don't forget your apron," she teased. He rolled his eyes but tied the cloth on over his good work shirt. "Very cute, counselor," she complimented as he went through the swinging door to the other room.

Bobby Darin was singing about Mack the Knife, and Della couldn't help but hum along as she went after the next pan, swinging her hips to the music. She'd always enjoyed singing and had been a member of the chorus in high school. She rarely found time for the hobby anymore, and she never sang in front of anyone, save for Perry on a few slightly inebriated occasions.

"Say something?" he asked, coming back in with their plates from the table.

"No, just singing along," she replied, nodding to the radio.

"How much of that wine did you have?" Perry teased, taking her chin in his fingers and pretending to examine her eyes for signs of intoxication.

"The wine you forgot to open?" she returned, pointing a soapy finger at the bottle they'd collected with the ingredients for dinner, still corked and wrapped in its decorative foil.

"Ah, yes," he hummed thoughtfully. "We'll have to remedy that soon."

"After this. I'm not putting my good stemware into anybody's soapy hands."

He smiled contentedly, leaning in for a peck on the lips before returning for the rest of the dishes.

Frank Sinatra was next, singing "You Make Me Feel So Young".

Perry returned with the rest of the dishes and she made quick work of them as he rinsed what she'd already finished. He chuckled again, and Della realized she was singing along under her breath. It was refreshing to see him so relaxed after nearly two weeks of crushing stress.

Della grabbed the serving spoon out of the dishwater and spun dramatically away from the counter.

"You make me feel so young," she sang theatrically into her makeshift microphone. "You make me feel as though spring has sprung," she continued, adding broadway-style dance-moves to her act. Perry laughed as he watched her and she stole the dish towel from his hands. She swished it in the air the way a burlesque dancer might wave a feather boa as it was discarded with other unnecessary articles of clothing.

"I've definitely kept you cooped up in the office too much this week," Perry teased as she shimmied around the kitchen in her bare feet with the dirty towel in her hand and a damp apron tied around her waist. She had a broad grin on her face and she gave him a wink, laughing so much she could barely keep up with Frank's singing.

"A wonderful fling to be flung!" Della exclaimed dramatically, throwing her arms wide and tossing the dish rag back to him. Perry leaned back against the counter, content to watch her have fun. "Yes, you make me feel so young," she continued, pulling at her apron strings as if that, too, were part of a dancing girl's provocative outfit. It landed on his head as she tossed it toward him. Della followed the path of the apron and sidled up beside Perry as she finished singing the song.

He was nearly in tears with laughter now, watching her let go of all the stress and delighting in the fact that she loved him, loved him enough to stick with him through two weeks of hell, enough to want him around after those two weeks and so many other weeks just like them, enough to show him this playful side of herself.

"You have all my attention now, darling," he said.

"Good," she replied, primly straightening her hair.

The rapid tempo of the music fell and the jockey introduced a song that had rapidly gained popularity among the country's youth, specifically the girls.

The first, gentle strains of guitar started and Perry took the plates from Della's hand and set them on the counter. He intertwined his fingers with hers and looked into her sparkling eyes.

"You know, they say that this Elvis fellow is just for teenagers, but I have to say, there's something to this song," Perry murmured.

"I'm sure they said the same thing about Mozart," Della replied. Perry chuckled, pulled her close, and twirled them away from the sink. He always enjoyed dancing with Della, but they were always conscious of the cruel eye of propriety when they were out and about.

Here in her dim kitchen, though, they didn't have to pretend or meet some unwritten standard. He could hold her against him; she could wrap her arms around his neck. They swayed slowly to the music, cheek to cheek.

"_Love me tender, love me long. Take me to your heart," _sang the crooner.

Everything else fell away for a moment as they held each other, and Perry took a moment to soak it all in, this private side of both of them that was unknown to anyone but was such an important part of his life that he couldn't imagine being without it. The world saw him as Perry Mason, the attorney. But Della saw Perry Mason, the man. The man who wanted someone to laugh with, someone to dance with, someone to trust when no one else was telling the truth. She saw his heart, and he saw hers. Her heart that was strong and independent, but still wanted to be held, comforted, looked after.

"For my darling, I love you, and I always will," Della sang quietly into his ear.

Perry's lips sought hers in a sweet kiss. They didn't hear the song change to a more upbeat, jazy number, but they did hear the telephone ring loudly and demandingly from the hook on the end of the cabinets.

It was some sort of learned secretarial reflex: her arm shot out and she was spilling a greeting into the receiver before Perry had even registered that her lips weren't on his anymore.

"It's Paul…" Della whispered, tucking the mouthpiece into her shoulder.

"We're busy," Perry reminded her, taking back her attention and the receiver in one fluid motion. "We've got some catching up to do, and after that, a lot of nothing." He dipped her to the music, causing her to giggle as he slotted the telephone firmly back onto the cradle. He punctuated the thought with a kiss. "Quite busy, it seems."

Della nodded absently, seeking out another kiss. "Quite busy, it seems."

00

"Hello?" Paul clicked the key a few times. "Hello, Della? Hello?" The private eye shook his head, hung up the telephone, and exited the phone booth.

"What's the matter; didn't you get through?" Gertie asked.

"Well, I think so...She sounded...dazed. Like I woke her up," Paul explained, offering her his arm. Gertie glanced at her watch.

"Little early, but from what you tell me, they've been putting in long hours. They've got lots of sleep to catch up on."

Paul hadn't mentioned the male voice that sounded suspiciously like Perry, or Della's girlish giggle. "Lots of something to catch up on. Come on, doll. We can have a great time without them."

_AN:Please leave me a review! Thanks to ValancyStirling for encouraging me through this piece!_


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